


Grace

by whiskyandoldspice (Itsirtou)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsirtou/pseuds/whiskyandoldspice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel manages to get out of Purgatory.  Dean's not the only one who makes deals for the one he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace

In Oklahoma, five weeks after Dean clawed his way out of Purgatory with a vampire under his flesh and an angel’s cries in his ear, he finds Cas.

When he sees the figure in a dirty trenchcoat on the park bench, Dean forgets everything from the last five weeks: the leads that went nowhere, the feel of alcohol burning down his throat, the way hands shook every time he answered the phone. His mind is empty of everything but Cas, sitting on the bench, spine straight, staring down at the ground.

Dean sits down next to him, because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“How long you been back?”

“Two days,” Cas says, and his voice is low, rusty; he talks with great effort, as though pulling the words from his lungs hurts him. 

And Dean can’t help it, he really can’t. “But I prayed yesterday,” he whispers and, as if from a dream long ago, remembers saying, _I prayed to you, Cas, every night._

Cas rounds his shoulders, defensively, as though Dean’s scored a hit. 

“I couldn’t—” Cas finally looks at him, quick dart of his eyes, and Dean catches a glimpse of blue before Cas lowers his gaze again. He doesn’t speak again.

When they finally get to the motel, Cas stands in middle of the room after Dean drops his hand, swaying a little, his face dirty and hair matted to his scalp with blood and sweat, eyes locked on the floor.

“C’mon, Grizzly Adams,” Dean says, and he means to sound lighthearted but then reaches out as if in a daze, strokes his hand down Cas’s face, and Cas’s eyes close, lips parting. When he speaks again, his voice is rough. “Gotta get you clean, Cas.” His thumb smears a little of the mud on Cas’s cheekbone. Cas exhales, shuddering.

He’s docile, unresisting, as Dean strips him out of his clothes, fingers brushing angelic flesh as often as Dean thinks he can get away with it. Lifts up his feet when Dean touches his calves lightly, so that Dean can help him step out of his shoes and pants.

Cas doesn’t protest when Dean turns on the water too hot and crowds in next to him. By the time Dean’s done washing Purgatory off of his skin Cas is trembling a little, hands in fists at his sides, and Dean is lost, helpless to do anything but sink to his knees as the water pounds down on them. He doesn’t know if Cas is ready for this, doesn’t know what happened to Cas in the weeks they were apart, doesn’t know why Cas won’t look at him or touch him, but Dean knows this, how Cas feels on his tongue and the noise that Cas makes when Dean finally takes him into his throat. 

“Dean,” Cas sobs. Going too fast, he knows he’s pushing too hard, but when it comes to Cas he’s always been stupid and reckless, so he slides a finger into Cas’s tight heat because he wants to hear Cas’s breath stutter. 

“Couldn’t hear you.” Cas sounds urgent, hands resting on Dean’s shoulders now, hunched as though he’s in pain. “Dean, I couldn’t hear you, I couldn’t—“ and then Cas is choking on the words, twisting in Dean’s hands and thrusting forward helplessly, coming in Dean’s mouth with a sweet cry. Only Dean’s hold on the slippery skin of his hips keeps him standing, bent over and gasping, against the shower wall.

“I couldn’t hear you, Dean,” Cas says again, after they’ve climbed out of the shower and dried off. He’s sitting on the bed, hands clenched in his lap like a lost little boy. Dean stands, because he knows, somehow, that he needs his strength for what Cas is going to say, and if he touches Cas he’ll be weak again, like always.

“You did something stupid,” he says, and his voice comes out angrier than he meant it to, “didn’t you, Cas. Benny was right. The gate didn’t work for you. They dragged you out of my _hands_.” 

“No," Cas agrees. "It doesn’t work for angels, Dean.”

“Cas, what the fuck did you do? You stupid son of a bitch. What did you do?”

And that finally gets him a reaction, some emotion, Cas’s lips drawing away from his teeth in an angry snarl as he spits, “You think you’re the only one who can make a deal for the people you love, Dean?”

The words hang in the middle of the room, ugly, and Dean’s suddenly afraid.

“Cas.” Cas shuts his eyes. “Cas, please.”

He kneels at Cas’s feet, takes Cas’s hands in his own. They’re cold.

“Kokabiel,” Cas says, words hardly more than a breath, tremulous and scared. The word means nothing to Dean, but a shiver works its way down his spine, just the same; the name sounds like screaming, like dying, like rotting things in the ground; it tastes like blood in Dean’s mouth. “The Watcher at the gates. He—was an angel, once. A long time ago.”

Cas’s hands had never been cold, before.

“He wanted—” Cas pulls one hand from Dean’s grip and splays his fingers on his chest over his own heart.

It’s as though he’s standing on the edge of a yawning, black chasm. Dean stares at Cas’s hand, watches as it rises and falls gently on his chest with the motion of Cas’s breath. For the first time he notices how delicate Cas’s fingers are, how his skin is pale enough that Dean can see the blue veins on the back of his hand, pumping blood through his fragile body.

“Your grace.” When he speaks he doesn’t recognize his own voice. His grip on Cas’s hand is so hard that it has to hurt, but Cas doesn’t pull away. ”So he would let you out. That’s what you traded.”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas sighs, then, a little trembling breath. “I gave him my grace.”

Dean stares up, mute, at the perfect being that he’s dragged through the dirt, and as always, Cas looks back at him like he’s worth something. Smiles.

“I received the best of the bargain, Dean.”

His protest is short-lived, cut off when Cas grips his chin, bringing it up so that he can press their lips together.

“My grace,” Cas whispers, placing his hand on Dean’s chest, “for this heart.”


End file.
